Diary of an Englishman
by Elaine Dawkins
Summary: A businessman is called out into the slums of London and finds something altogether unusual. He learns that you can't always, though sometimes you can, judge a book by its cover.
1. Chapter 1

Diary of an Englishman 

By Elaine Dawkins

December 2, 1828 

As seen on the gloom and only by those willing to bear the sludgy, dark streets, life may be seen as one long road, never changing, all the same shade of gray……until, that is,……one looks closer and sees that life, day in and day out, is….really….made of many shades of gray….very different….

" I came down this read myself on an evening much like this. The tiny, narrow streets seemed choked with hanging laundry ( looking mightily unwashed), garbage cans holding reeking fumes, and the homeless huddled in the nooks and crannies shivering in the mist and wet. It appeared to be just as every other slum street I had visited. You see, I worked for an orphanage on the other end of town and I had been called out to answer a certain plea. I had been asked to investigate a child abuse case. I've done this a hundred times at least, but this one was odd……for it had not been called into question by a man or woman, but a mere child. The same one, I believed, to be the subject of that wrath and abuse……"

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	2. Chapter 2

Diary of an Englishman 

By Elaine Dawkins

December 3, 1828 

As I made my way through the dark, I fumbled in my pocket. I pulled out a piece of paper and squinted so that I could read it. The Three cripples, London was all that was written on it. It had taken me a week to locate the actual area referred to. So, tonight I was able to make the journey.

I put the note back in my pocket and went on.

After traversing several different streets and alleys, I finally found the place. It was a dingy, old building with three stories. The windows were fogged, thanks to the mist that had settled, and the light that escaped through was opaque. I advanced and noticed that the shadows of several men could be seen inside. Hoping the note was not a joke, I went in.

"It just came to me that the person reading may wonder how I came into this slum area without much worry or trouble. Well, I forgot to mention that in preparation for this assignment I had visited about a dozen garbage cans in search of some good garb. Luckily, I found a pair of old, ripped trousers, a moth-eaten great coat, and an old hat with the lining missing. In this way I was able to look just as bad as everyone else in these parts."

To continue……I stepped in and paused long enough to accustom my eyes to the light. As my sight adjusted, I noted that there were exactly seven men in the bar. One- the barman, and the others sitting together at the same table. At this point four of the men at the table had finished their drinks and were now leaving. I crossed over to the other side of the room and sat down. I took out a pad of paper and began to write. This was done so that I would look nonchalant. After a while, I began to wonder whether nothing would happen when I began to get the feeling that some one was steadily looking at me. Gazing up, I realized that the two gentlemen (If I could call them that!) were whispering to each other and taking glances in my direction. Now I was getting nervous.

One of the men now made directly for me. He strode over with the air of a man who owned the world. I looked up at him, but did not smile. I simply eyed him and tucked my pad and pen into my coat pocket. The man stopped a few paces away and gave a sight nod of the head as a courtesy. I did the same and he, recognizing the invitation, sat down across from me.

"I see that you are a writer, my dear?"

"Not really," I was not expecting that question and it quite startled me. I could not show the writing to him because I had been using it to take note of the bar and of the people in it. I imagined that this man's friend, who was much younger, would have caused me pain beyond mentioning. Luckily, the question was asked to introduce conversation so it did not matter…..

Sorry about the long wait. College takes up time along with a sister who takes up the computer! Ha, Ha, Ha!

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	3. Chapter 3

Diary of an Englishman 

By Elaine Dawkins

December 3, 1828 

……..The conversation took a new turn now and I realize, thereafter, that my disguise may have been a little too good.

The man who talked with me concluded that I was a native to the area, but that I seemed to be floundering. After asking the previous question, he called over his friend and he too joined us. The one who had first come over, looked to be in his mid-sixties and had a strangely mixed personality consisting of a creepy-slyness and a kind-grandfatherly demeanor. He now introduced himself by the name of Fagin and his younger friend by the name of Bill. I found Bill to be an odd sort of companion whose personality meshed with the elderly gentleman's like oil and water. He was unmistakably a gruff sort with a taste for the hard and brute. But, all in all, they seemed undisturbed by such inconsistencies.

"What line of business are you in, my dear?" Fagin asked, folding his hands upon the table in a serious manner and leaning toward me.

"I am unemployed." This was the only answer that made since. I could not say honestly that I worked for a government agency. I could not come up with any sort of made-up work for fear of more questions and also, I didn't really know of any legal occupations in the area.

Fagin gave a quick glance over at Bill, closed his eyes, and began nodding at me in a knowing way that scared me more than the leer given by Bill. Now I really knew I was getting caught up in something that I should not be caught up in. But, what was I to do? I was pretty sure neither of them had written the note and no one else had shown up or left any clues.

"I thought just so….," Fagin said in a lofty thoughtfulness. He then opened his eyes and looked over at his friend.

Bill narrowed his eyes and shook his head as though they were having a silent debate---about me, no doubt.

"Ah, think about the possibilities, Bill."

"What er yer thinking?" Bill exclaimed. He slammed down his mug of whisky and pulled his sleeve across his filthy mouth.

"Hush, hush, my dear….," Fagin stole a look at the barman and put his hand on Bill's shoulder as a warning.

The elderly gentleman now turned his eyes back to me and continued the conversation as though it had never been broken.

"Would you like a nice, little job, my dear? We have an opening…. room and board included….pay also of course. No extras though - like health care. Ha, ha, ha….!" He leaned back in his chair and smiled at his own joke. Bill even joined in this time with a low, gravelly laugh and then took another draught of ale.

"What sort of job?" I had not joined in with the jest and the other two quickly settled down again.

"A job where yer just might get ahold o' some property worth a bit," Bill took another draught and set down his mug, smirking.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't day 'no' because they were criminals—obviously—and I was sure that they would not mind doing me in. I said that I was interested and left it at that. I continued to look solemn and haughty so that they would respect me and not try to cross me. Oh, how I wish someone else could have been chosen to come down here!

"Interested, my dear?" Fagin looked imploringly at me as though I was his last hope. He sighed and made like he would leave.

"Alright, when and where do you want me?" I wanted to run out of there as fast as I could, but that would be an idiotic thing to do! So, I went along with it hoping it would not be the end of me or my career.

"That would be Bill's domain…," the elderly gentleman waved his hand in Bill's direction as he spoke and then fell silent, looking at the table.

"Well," began Bill, "Hows about we meet down by Henderson Creek at midnight. Yer know where that is right?" I nodded and he proceeded, "On the north side down by the bridge. Can yer bring a pistol?"

"Yes, I have one. Not on me now, though!!" Bill had drawn his hand toward his right pocket as I said this. Fagin simply stared at the table and showed no other sign. Bill now removed his hand and leered. I leered back and, for the first time, forced (what I hope was) an aloof laugh.

Fagin looked back up and smiled, "Now Bill, my dear, you almost met your match!" He then decided that business was concluded and offered to buy me a brandy. I accepted gratefully (I needed a drink badly!) and we all drank a toast.

"Now, what was your name, my dear?"

I choked a little on my brandy, but gave an answer none the less, "Thomas."

"Maybe 'Tom' for short," mused Fagin, "Better in case of trouble that the name be short and easy to remember," he took a sip of his drink.

"Now see this brandy?" he continued, "That is how I knew you needed a job, my dear. No one, no not one person comes in here without buying a drink unless he is down on his luck. And you, my dear, are one of those. I am a generous man and I pity those like you." Fagin downed the rest of his scotch and got up to leave. Bill stayed seated as though he were staying. I stood up, extremely ready to go. Fagin held out his hand to shake and I grasped it. Bill seemed fairly uninterested and merely looked into the bottom of his glass.

"Thank you, my dear. Lovely to meet a man such as yourself," he gave a small bow and put on his hat.

We both made for the door. I slipped out after the elderly gentleman and went on my way quickly, hoping to God that Bill would not come out and shoot me with his pistol.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello! This is Charlene Bates (Elaine Dawkin's sister). Yes, she did write this chapter, it is just that she is SO busy that I am typing it up and posting it FOR her. She didn't want all you guys to have to go without reading it for days. So, just pretend I am her. Here we go with chapter 4, right?

December 4, 1828

I pulled up my grubby pants, wrapped myself in the filthy great coat, donned my hat, and put my pistol in my pocket. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and sighed. I had not told anyone at the orphanage about my new criminal side – the one I am, to this day, ashamed of. I hoped that some good would come of it. Maybe there was a link to the abused child – or maybe there wasn't. At least, I mused, no one would recognize my in this clothing. But just to make sure, once I stepped outside, I grabbed a handful of dirt from my garden and smeared my face with it.

I had actually loaded my pistol (something I rarely do). I decided that I would not use it except for in self-defense – if Bill got any ideas about me being a good target!

Beginning to walk towards Henderson Creek, I wished that I could use a chaise carriage. It would look funny, though, if a person of my apparent poverty had enough money to afford it. I strode on without too much delay trying to ignore the cold wet darkness. An hour later, I finally reached my destination.

Bill was already waiting and he had brought a suitcase. I came over and he put a lantern close to my face.

"Good ide'r that muck," he put down the lantern and squatted next to the bank. Bill scooped up a handful of dirt and covered himself with it. I was actually a little pleased with myself for this bit of genius – especially since it pleased Bill.

"Now, yer see this here suitcase…," he tapped it with a crowbar, "These are my insterments for the job," he grinned and continued, "No need for yer to know what they are; I'll be usin' them myself. You brought yer pistol?"

I pulled it out a little shakily, just long enough for Bill to see, and put it away again. He nodded.

"Now see here, I want yer to go first and I'll follow behind. Wer headin' straight for that house over there," he pointed ahead. "They're asleep by now. When we get there, yer gonna look in the window. If all's clear, give me the signal." He put both hands in the air. "That's the signal. If it is not clear, come straight back, yer understand?"

I said "yes", but I didn't' much like the signal. It looked too much like surrender – like asking to be shot at.

"Good. If all's clear, I'll come up with this crowbar and open the winder. We'll both go inside and look for the good stuff – you know, jewelry, money, anything that can be grabbed and carried."

Bill now poked me with the crowbar and I went ahead towards the house. I kept running over the plan in my head. I was worried that I would make a mistake because of my nerves. This was not what I should have done. I should have just run in the other direction. So what if he would have shot me? I, at least, would have died with integrity and gone to heaven! But no, I was a chicken and have paid for it ever since with my guilt.

I came closer and closer. I shook uncontrollably, but tried to hide it. Now I reached the window. Peering inside, I noted that all was clear. I lifted my hands and Bill crept over…

All right! That's it. Reviews please! – Charlene Bates (and Elaine Dawkins, the actual author)


	5. Chapter 5

December 4, 1828

… I grabbed the lantern and stepped aside. Bill wedged the crowbar between the windowsill and sash. He began pulling downward as gently as he could in order to loosen the window. I looked on and marveled at the man's agility – something that I had not expected from his hefty form.

I was suddenly lifted out of my reverie by a tap on the shoulder. Bill had been able to crack open the window and was now ready to go inside.

"Yer can climb through…," he whispered into my ear. I could smell whisky and tobacco on his breath. "An' go an' unlock the front door. I'll be waitin' there." And off he went around the house, crowbar and suitcase in hand.

I was now faced with the dread of going inside. I knew stealing was wrong – sinfully wrong, but I couldn't get the courage to run for it. So instead, like an idiot, I continued on with this horrifying deed. I pushed the window a little higher until I was sure that I could climb through safely. I pulled myself through and stepped inside.

It was a living room. There was a fireplace surrounded by chairs and a piano. On one wall, there was a series of shelves with at least a hundred books situated on them. There was also a writing desk with paper and ink witting on top and at least one plant in every corner of the room. I paused to walk quietly around the furniture and then noticed a plaque on the wall. I stopped and read. It was a list of family members. There were grandparents, parents, and (my worst fear) children. I imagined them upstairs asleep while we committed our crime. They would wake the next day and find objects gone and wonder why. Or, if they were older, understand why and fear a second attack…

The clock struck one. I almost yelled in fright, but stifled it and walked, shaking, to the front door. I turned the knob and there was Bill. He looked at me in a queer way, but said nothing. He walked past me and into the living room.

"Hand me those candlesticks." He opened his suitcase and took out a few metal objects and put the candlesticks inside. "Take anything small and worth somethin'."

I handed Bill some knives out of a drawer, a couple of silver bookends, a picture frame, a collection of paperweights, and a bankbook.

"Anythin' else?" He searched around the room with his eyes.

"Not not that I see," I ventured to answer.

"Good."

He stood up after first closing the suitcase and headed for the entryway. I followed figuring that we would leave and get out of here without notice, when, he stopped at the stairs.

"More stuff upstairs…, come on now."

We went up. We were even more careful to be quiet since we were near the bedrooms. A stair creaked slightly and Bill gave a curse that was barely audible. He leered in the direction of the creak and then moved on.

We came to the top and Bill, once again, set down the suitcase and everything went as it had gone before. I passed Bill the goodies and Bill stowed them.

After at least ten minutes, I began to get a strange feeling. I motioned to Bill and he looked up from his work.

"Do we hare enough?"

Bill furrowed his brows and then nodded. I guess he understood me.

----

Down in the entry, Bill pulled out his pistol and kept one eye on the stairs as he opened the door. He then went out and I followed.

The night was getting on. It was probably almost two o'clock in the morning. I was tired and ready to go to bed. I wanted to get far away where it would be safe. I didn't care about my pay (I didn't deserve anything) and I still had not found out anything that even led to an abused child. The whole project was probably a worthless joke. I would simply go to the orphanage and say that the whole thing was a lie. Then I could go back to normal life.

I was tapped on the shoulder again. Bill was as ready to go as I was and the reason soon startled me. It seemed that the lantern he had given me had been left behind. I had left it on the ground and it had sparked a bit of grass. It was moving towards the side of the house and I wanted to put it out immediately. Bill would not have it. He grasped my arm and pulled me until I was running.

We ran back over Henderson Creek and all the way to the edge of London before we stopped. I was panting and Bill (to my surprise and grief) was actually LAUGHING!!

"What?" I managed to ask.

"Startin' a fire!" cried Bill with hysterics.

"What?" I could not grasp his meaning.

"What an amazin' thing!"

"What?"

Bill leaned against a brick building and heaved a sigh, "Yer don't get it?"

I was worried. What was coming? Where was his pistol?

"Yer the most brilliant greeny I ever did see. First, you disguise yerself with dirt and then yer start a fire. Yer know, that fire will burn everything! Yer hear me, EVERYTHING! Not one person will notice that anything was stolen! Yer know why? 'Cause that fire will burn EVERYTHING!" He clapped me on the shoulder and we started off walking.

I admit I was a novice and I had no idea that what I did was any good. I was glad that Bill was in such a glorious mood. When we went inside the first pub in town, he bought me a drink. Success is a bit sweet after all, isn't it?

We stayed at the bar for almost an hour, when, I decided that bed was actually the sweetest thing.

"I'm ready to tuck in," I said.

"Right."

We headed off again deeper into London. Bill staggered a bit (he had had three drinks) and he would periodically laugh and clap my shoulder. We probably looked like very good friends at this point.

"Goodnight!" I said.

"What? Where are yer going?" her peered at me.

"Home," I answered.

"Exac'ly," he said and pulled me in the opposite direction…

**I want to thank Charlene Bates, Broken Amethyst, & Protego Totalum for their gracious support! Thanks all of you! Please keep reading and sending feedback! – Elaine Dawkins**


	6. Chapter 6

December 4, 1828

… Bill pulled his arm through mine and we headed back into the labyrinth of alleys. I was extremely displeased at the prospect of being taken – where? I had no clue. But, this couldn't be a good thing. What I had meant was MY home. Not HIS home! Or someone else's home – wherever I was being dragged. Then to discomfort me even more, Bill began to sing. (My ears still have not recovered from that noise – not even Bach can save me now!)

"Got meself a glor'yous giiiirrrlllll…," started Bill. Was he talking about me?!! I hope no one else thought so!

"With flow'rs in her haaaiiiiirrr…" he went on in a low tone. Oh, please make him stop!

"No need to sing, Bill,' I said, to no avail.

"She sells beer in a bar, my deeeeaaaarrrrr!"

Bill paused and let go of my arm (finally!). He leaned against a doorway and grinned at me, "Burn EVERYTHING!" He began to laugh once again.

The door behind him creaked open at this point. Bill turned around clumsily and said something strange, "Plumy an' slam." I told you he was drunk.

We were then led inside and down a flight of stairs. We were lead by a boy, about the age of thirteen who held in his hand a candle. He held his hand aloft feeling for something ahead. He stopped suddenly and knocked on a door in front of him. We followed him through it.

Once inside, the boy blew out the candle and set it on a table that was situated in the middle of the room. I realized, as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the fire, that we were in a kitchen with several other doors leading off to who-knows-what.

"Where's Fagin?" Bill suddenly addressed the boy.

"I'll get him."

"That's the Artful Dodger," Bill said to me.

"Oh," was all I could get out at this point.

Then the Dodger came back into the room followed by the old gentleman whom I had met previously in The Three Cripples.

Fagin looked as if he had been in bed, but he smiled nevertheless, "How did it go, Bill, my dear?"

"With a bang," I intervened, straight-faced, and Bill began to laugh.

"Him," he pointed at me, "Yer know what he is?"

Fagin looked at me as though questioning what I was – as if I was a curiosity in a pawnshop.

"Him," continued Bill, "He's a GENIUS! He went and set the house a' burnin'! DOWN TO THE GROUND. AND I SAYS, 'WELL NOW THEY WON'T KNOW WE'VE BEEN HERE!"

"Hush, hush, hush…,"Fagin placed a hand on Bill's shoulder and gave a slight nod at the Dodger. The Dodger answered by leading Bill back out into the passage. Now I was alone with the old gentleman.

"You burnt down a house, my dear?"

"I might have…," I felt ashamed and I suppose that I showed it.

"How?"

"I left the lantern on the ground when I climbed through a window. I forgot about it and we left before I could see the full damage."

"Brilliance, my dear, is often the effect of accident. Just like necessity is the mother of invention."

I sat down across from him and rubbed my eyes, "I'm too tired to do anything…"

"Oh yes, my dear, I see that… I'll show you your room."

"What?" I looked up and watched Fagin move towards one of the doors.

"Your room, my dear Tom,… the one I promised you when I offered the job."

"Of course, where was my head?!" I answered and got up.

"Asleep, I'd say," mused Fagin, "Here you are, my dear, a bed and here's a washbasin for you. Breakfast is at seven." And with that, he shut the door.

I washed my face and crawled under the covers. I wanted to sleep, but my brain was busy and would not allow it. I kept thinking and wondering what I was going to do tomorrow. I had to be at work at nine. Would I be allowed out? I would have to sneak to work. But, I don't have proper clothing! Can I get to my house and change clothes? Do I still have my house key? I fumbled in my pockets and found that it was still there. Good.

Then a new thought emerged: Should I call the police?

"Not yet," I answered and felt myself drift off…

**Hello this is Charlene Bates, commenting for the writer –Elaine Dawkins - of this WONDERFUL story (she is very busy at the present – but not as busy as I am!). Anyway, she would like to say, "Please Review! Thanks!"**


	7. Chapter 7

December 5, 1828

… The next morning, I awoke to the sound of voices. I opened my eyes and was surprised to find that I was at home. Then I remembered and it all made sense. Bill had brought ne here to live in this rat hole. But now what?

I got up, yawned, and made for the door. Opening it, I realized that the noise I had heard was the sound of breakfast. Fagin was stooped over the fire toasting bread with a long fork and the rest of the room was filled with boys. There were boys everywhere! Some sitting on the ground, some eating already-toasted bread, some calling for more, some sitting in chairs, some leaning against walls, some joking, laughing, yawning – all acting just like boys! I did not know what to think and I did not have time to.

Fagin looked up from his work and saw me.

"Come in, my dear… breakfast is almost ready… Peter, give Master Tom your seat, please. Yes, there's a good lad."

Peter moved inot the corner and I sat down. He gave me a hurtful stare and all I could do was whisper, "Sorry."

"Boys…," said Fagin. Everyone went quiet. "If any of you are finished, you can go to work now." About three-fourths of the group left the room; the rest stayed behind waiting for their bread. I noted that one of the boys was The Artful Dodger whom I had met briefly the night before.

"My dear," the old gentleman addressed the Dodger, "Where is Charlie this morning? Ailing? Too bad. We'll just have to keep an eye on him, then. I'll send up some milk and brandy shortly. Here's your toast. Might as well take it with you, my dear, and go to work. Charlie may be out of it for a couple of days – we need the money!" He handed the Dodger some toast and the Dodger went out into the passage.

"Illness, my dear," he addressed me, "is the one complaint of this line of work, but there are benefits." He went back to his cooking and fed and shooed away the rest of the boys.

At last, he offered me some breakfast and them started heating up and stirring some milk and brandy. He seemed to be in a thoughtful mood and he would periodically stop and taste the mixture. After about five minutes he seemed satisfied and poured some of it into a glass.

"My dear, would you mind taking this up to Charlie for me?"

I said that I didn't mind and left the room. I found Charlie in bed, looking fairly miserable.

"Hello," I ventured.

"Who are you?"

"Thomas."

"Oh, right! Yer the feller who set a house on fire!" Charlie grinned and seemed to brighten up tremendously. "The Dodge told me about it!" He began to laugh.

"Here," I handed him the drink, "Fagin wanted me to give you this."

"Oh, course he did. He's always perfectly nice!" He downed the drink and leaned back with a big smile.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Sure."

I made my way back to the kitchen. Fagin was sitting at the table flipping through a notebook with a quill in one hand.

"Ah, did he drink it, my dear? Right down? Good, good…"

He resumed his work and then, after a couple of calculations, made aloud his findings.

"We, that is Bill and I owe you fifteen pounds for your work."

"About that, I didn't like the work at all." It took a lot of courage to say that!

"You didn't find it rewarding enough, my dear?"

"No, I didn't. Could I do something else? What do the boys do?" This was a sudden inspiration on my part. I figured that if I joined the boys, I might find a lead and the whole mess would be worth something.

The elderly gentleman eyed me for a few seconds before speaking, "They pick pocket. A fairly easy job if you're small enough, fast enough, and patient enough. Those like yourself don't usually get into it, but if you want to try it, well, then, by all means do."

"Who is your best worker?"

"That would be the Dodger, my dear." Fagin said this with deep pride and gave his hat a slight tap, "Brains, my dear, concentration – The Dodger has those in abundance!"

"Could he show me the ropes then?" I tried to look eager and Fagin gave me an approving nod.

"You'll find him somewhere on fourth street, if I'm not mistaken. Tell him I gave it the go and he'll teach you. Charlie isn't helping him today, so he could use a partner, my dear."

With that, I left and headed back down the dark passage and out to fulfill my duty as a new apprentice…

Thanks for reading!!!! Please leave your thoughts! – Elaine Dawkins 

**I would like to add that I think (being an aerobics person) that there should be an exercise tape designed for people who would like to sweat with Fagin & the boys! Weird huh?**


	8. Chapter 8

December 5, 1828

… Once I reached the street, I pulled out my pocket watch. It was approximately a quarter after eight and I only had forty-five minutes until I needed to be at work. I ran down several streets looking for the Dodger until I finally spotted him. He was near a lettuce stand and he appeared to be examining the heads (of lettuce that is) while his left hand saw groping in a woman's purse and putting the contents into one of his big coat pockets. It was quite a bazaar sight. He appeared unaware of what his hand was doing – as if it had a mind of its own. Once his hand had procured all the valuables, he placed it back in his pocket and sauntered off; all the while looking at the other wares for sale.

I walked quickly forward, until I was level with him. He looked over at me and tipped his hat slightly.

"Morn'in my covey."

"Good morning," I answered, "How are you?"

"Fine my good sir," he gave a nod and continued to look about.

"I must talk to you," I grabbed him by the sleeve and pointed to a deserted street he smirked and followed my lead. Once we were safely alone, I proceeded with the conversation.

"I need you to teach me how to pickpocket. Fagin sent me down here to find you. Well, can you teach me?"

"Oh, to be sure, my man," he replied, "I can teach anyone, just give me ten ticks an' I'll see to that! (By which he meant that he could teach me in ten minutes.) Now, let's see you try an' fish for this 'ere wipe (handkerchief)." He stuck the item in his coat pocket and I tried to pull it out. It took me several tries before I got the hang of it.

"Alright," I said, "I think I'm ready, but I want to work alone. Understand me?" I was still hoping to appear slightly threatening. I must have done a good job at it because the Dodger appeared a bit put out. He walked away without looking back. I suppose he expected a thank you, but I had no time for it. I had only a quarter till nine left on my watch and I needed to get going.

I ran down several streets until I was far enough away and called for a carriage. I was not going to walk seventeen miles. I would never get to work on time that way!

The carriage stopped in front of my house and I got out. I ran inside and headed into my living quarters in order to get a light scrubbing and a change of attire. Once I looked presentable, I went back out and walked over to the orphanage.

"Good morning, Mr. Edvard," one of the caretakers was polishing the entryway floor.

"A wonderful morning to you, Miss Gailen!" I tipped my hat at her, "Is Mr. Carthage in?"

"I believe he came in a few minutes ago," she smiled and went on with her washing.

"Thank you."

----

Around five o'clock I left the orphanage and went back to my home. I changed back into my filthy clothing and was about to leave when I remembered something.

I began to search through my dresser and found several things that I needed: a comb, a pair of cufflinks, ten pounds of spare change, a ring, a leather wallet, five handkerchiefs, a silver snuff box, and a pipe made of the finest mahogany. All this, I stuffed into my pants pockets. I then headed back towards the "rat hole."

I came to the door and rang the bell. The Dodger opened it and asked for the password – as if he didn't know me! The only thing I could think of was what Bill had said the night before. I hoped it was right.

"Plumy and slam."

The Dodger backed away from the open door and I followed his candle down and into the kitchen. Fagin was roasting some chicken on the fire. He looked up after giving the meat a few pokes with the toasting fork.

"Ah, my dear, back again… we were wondering whether something bad had happened."

"Not a thing," I walked over to the table and began slowly to pull out each item and set it down with a slight thud upon the surface. Fagin looked on and his eyes grew wider with every new addition. I gave him a slightly mocking grin. Then I looked over at the Dodger. He appeared a little shocked. He said nothing, but, turning away, slumped off out of the room. I believe I hurt his feelings tremendously. I felt bad about that and vowed to amend the damage in some way.

"All this you found today, my dear?" The elderly gentleman left the chicken and came over to inspect everything I had brought, "Why, you have outdone the Dodger, my dear… such lovely things… you are gifted as sure as the sun shines! Ha, ha, ha!" He chuckled for a few seconds and then returned to his cooking.

I didn't say anything, but simply sat down in the chair closest the fire and had a bit of a victory smoke. And that was when my life became so much easier…

**Cheerio! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A special thanks to Broken Amethyst, Charlene Bates, and all the rest! More fun to come! – Elaine Dawkins**


	9. Chapter 9

December 6, 1828

… I awoke the next morning with the strange feeling that today was going to be exactly the same as yesterday. Not that that is a bad thing, but I did not like sneaking around that much. Luckily, I was not aware (or had forgotten) that today was Saturday. I remembered it after a while, once I had entered the kitchen, because it was perfectly void of human existence. Everyone was obviously sleeping in. I had the kitchen to myself!

I sat down in one of the chairs and put my feet up on the table (something I never do otherwise!) and I let my mind drift in the stillness.

Far away from my daydreams and barely above the silent noise, I heard a bell. It repeated and seemed to come louder… and louder.

I put my feet down again and then, realizing what the ring was, I jumped up and started searching around for matches. After finding nothing of the sort around, I went into the passageway candle-less.

Reaching the door, I opened it a crack and inquired who was calling.

"It's Nancy."

"Password?" I questioned. I was unfamiliar with the name.

"What? Who is this?" I could tell from her voice that she was slightly alarmed. I made no answer, but closed the door and headed back toward the living area. Fagin was not up yet and nothing else stirred so I went back to the door.

I opened it a crack once more and was surprised to see that she was still there.

"Give me a name and you can come in."

"Nan…"

"Not that name!" I interrupted her, "A different one!"

"Fagin," her voice trembled a bit and sounded sort of weak. I felt sorry for her and made a vow to pay her back also for my disregard. I never would talk to a lady like that otherwise.

"Come in," I opened the door the rest of the way and then led her towards the kitchen.

"Who are you?" she asked. I knew she couldn't see me in the dark because I couldn't see much of her either.

"Thomas. I'm new here."

"Oh! Bill told me about you!" She gave a laugh and seemed to lose all fear, "Bill told my that you set a house on fire. I didn't believe a liv'n word of it until I read about it in the paper."

The paper! I had not thought of checking it at all. Why had I not? Too busy to think about it I suppose – well, I had a lot on my mind the past few days.

"What did it say?"

"Well," she paused a moment in thought, "The west wing of the house ignited… the family awoke before it got to the east side and were able to escape… they sent word to the fire brigade – they showed up an hour later… the house was already beyond help, so they let it burn to the ground."

I was glad the family had escaped unharmed. I made a mental note to give them some money anonymously, in order to help pay for the damages.

We went into the kitchen and I was finally able to get a good look at her. She was average height, thin with light-brown hair, and she wore some mismatched clothing. Basically though, a nice looking girl.

She pulled off her bonnet and hung it on a peg amongst a collection of hats and scarves. She sat down at the table and began fingering in a clutch purse.

"Fagin is still asleep… do you want something?"

"I came to get money for the rent. We need 20 pounds."

"We?"

"Yes, Bill an' I," she turned slightly red and began to stare at a painting on the wall.

_So, she is married to Bill,_ I thought.

"Where does Fagin keep the money?" I asked.

She pointed to a small drawer in a desk against the far wall. I went over and opened it. Looking inside, I noted that there was exactly 20 pounds in cash held together separately by some twine.

"Here," I handed it to her and she put it in her purse.

"Thanks."

Just then, Fagin entered the room.

"Ah, Nance, my dear…. Just showed up?"

"Yes. I came for the rent money. No need to bother yerself about it! He gave it to me." She pointed to me and turned to go.

Fagin walked over to the fireplace and began to throw logs in.

"So, you met Nancy, my dear? Wonderful girl!"

"She's married to Bill?"

"No, my dear. He just houses her. Ha, ha, ha! Isn't that right Dodge?" The elderly gentleman addressed his protégé who had, at that moment, entered the room. The Dodger grinned at Fagin and made a reply in the affirmative.

"How is Charlie this morning, my dear?" Fagin had lit the fire and was now putting some sausages in a pan.

"Better. He says he wants a bite and sup."

"Oh yes, I'll send up some more brandy for him and some toast, shortly."

"I could grab the brandy," offered Dodge.

The elderly gentleman eyed him incredulously, "Oh no, my dear, _I_ will get it," he lowered his voice and addressed me, "These boys just try to get a drink at all turns." He grinned and resumed his cooking.

The Dodger sat down at the table, pulled some playing cards from his pocket, and began fishing through them. He paid absolutely no attention to me in the least. I felt once more that pang of guilt. I love children – naturally, I should since I work at an orphanage and I can not bear to be mean to them. But, I had to.

"You play poker?" I asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Yeah."

"Want to play a game?"

"Yer can't play with only two people."

"There are lots of individuals here." I went on, "Surely someone else would join us…"

The elderly gentleman intervened, "Why don't you ask Peter and Samuel to join in, my dear, and while you're at it, take this to Charlie," Fagin pointed to an amber-colored glass. Dodge left the room with it and I began to hope that maybe I would not lose all my money within the next hour…

**Thanks for reading! Not that interesting a chapter, but it is important to the plot. Please review!! I love to hear what you think! – Elaine Dawkins**


	10. Chapter 10

December 7, 1828

… I lost exactly 35.24 pounds that night thanks to the cheating of the Dodger and the trickiness of Messrs. Peter and Samuel. I hoped that I could win without stooping to their level. Darn!

The next day, Sunday, was just like Saturday. Everyone stayed in bed. I awoke once again to the sound of silence. I got up, all the same, and went into the kitchen. I spent an hour trying to cook breakfast for myself. Not because I am a bad cook or can't follow a recipe, but because I had a hard time trying to find all the cookery items I needed. Nothing was put away in logical manner. I spent ten minutes trying to locate a missing measuring spoon – and I never found it. Basically, it was one of the most trying things – a nightmare to any chef!

By the time I was washing up, Fagin emerged from his bedroom. He looked tired. He had been out late last night (who knows where?) and I had not seen him since seven p.m.

He walked over to another door leading from the room and put his ear to it. He listened for some time and then came on over.

"Good morning, my dear. I was just checking…"

Crash, Crash, BANG!!!! THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

"Ah, yes," he grinned at me, " the boys are awake."

I guess that that was what he was listening for. He gave a sheepish smile that plainly told that his enthusiasm about the "awakening" of the boys was purely sarcastic. He sighed as the boys began to come down the stairs and into the room.

"Breakfast time, my dears!" said the old gentleman. He pulled out a pan and filled it with water.

"What's that you're cooking?" asked one of the smaller boys.

"Oatmeal," was the answer.

The boy crinkled his nose and made a gagging noise. There was an explosion of laughter from the rest of the crowd at this pantomime of the effects of oatmeal on the body.

Fagin, once he had the chance, jokingly tapped the boy on the head with a wooden spoon as punishment.

"Have you eaten, my dear Tom?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?" asked another boy.

"An omelet," I answered, feeling a bit guilty.

"That's not fair!" cried someone.

"Yes, that isn't far at all! If you're a mast'r chef, why don't you cook for us?" cried Peter.

"Yer, can't ask for that! George is allergic to eggs! Ha, ha, ha…!" Charlie was obviously in perfect health now – not only in body, but also in character.

Now everyone was talking and laughing all at once. They made jokes about the blandness of the menu – some saying that this was not a five-star restaurant and that they would not recommend it to their friends. This was often met with a reply that the said friends were in that very room and needed no recommendation. Others (mostly the younger ones who had less intellect and skill the art of crafty jest) were pleased simply to mimic the afore-said pantomime. Everything was getting toward a chaotic state, when the elderly gentleman stepped in…

"SILENCE!" Fagin was standing in front of the fire, spoon in hand, and he glared at all the children. They fell silent and still at once. I didn't blame them. Fagin seemed to grow menacing with the fire behind him and his eerie shadow covering the entire right wall, "I will have no more complaints! You will give us away! Go upstairs!" He pointed towards heaven with his spoon.

They all ran back up to the second floor as quick as if they had been set on fire. Only the elderly gentleman and I were left. He turned back to the fire and grabbed the pan off the flames. He tossed the water out the window and then sat down at the table.

"I don't know what got into me, my dear," he sighed again and rested his head on his hand. We stared at the fire for a while.

I ventured to break the silence, "You need a vacation."

He nodded, rose from the chair, and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" I was surprised by his sudden actions.

"On vacation, my dear," he grabbed his had and greatcoat, "keep then in line while I'm gone."

And with that he left. I ran to the window and watched him until he turned the corner at the end of the lane. What was I to do now?…

**Cheerio! A short one, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A special thanks to Broken Amethyst, Charlene Bates, and all the rest! More chapters and fun to come! – Elaine Dawkins**


	11. Chapter 11

December 7, 1828

… I was now stuck here, by myself, with the responsibility of taking care of all the boys. I could not figure out what to do. I went halfway up the stairs and heard the boys laughing and talking. At least, they were being quiet about it. I sighed and descended back down into the kitchen.

I went over to the fireplace and threw on a couple of logs to bring the dwindling fire back to life. Now I began to consider my options. I could sneak out and go to church – no, that would be unsafe and irresponsible. I could take the children down to the orphanage – no. I had given this idea a lot of thought already. The fact was that the longer I stayed here, the more I saw all the positives of the place. The children had shelter, food, and, of course, the elderly gentleman – he seemed to be happy to house them. Now, I realize that he depends on them for income, but it was an even trade-off, wasn't it? I only wished that they made money in a non-criminal way. That was the only negative side that I saw…

My pondering was interrupted by a ring at the front door bell. I walked out into the passageway and came across the Dodger who was just entering from another doorway. He was holding a lit candle and a set of old keys. He jumped slightly when he saw me, but almost immediately regained his composure, "You gonna get it?" he asked.

He seemed ready as ever to do his duty so I was not going to stop him, "Go ahead."

He returned a minute later followed by Nancy. He then headed off back into the passage. It was then that I realized that I had not seen the Dodge that morning at breakfast. I didn't have time to wonder why because Nancy spoke, "Is Fagin here?"

"No, I answered, "He's gone… for how long, I don't know."

She paused midway in hanging up her bonnet, "So you've taken over?"

"Seems so."

She walked over to the table and sat down, "I'll just keep you company for a while. Bill has been in an awful mood all morning… he's planning another excursion. He's mostly annoyed because you won't be going!" she smiled at me and continued, "Grapevine says that you have changed to being a pick-pocket. That's strange, but it is better work, isn't it?"

"Well, less deadly for one thing…" I replied and she laughed.

"What did you want Fagin for?" I asked after a pause.

"We need a couple more pounds to tide us over until Bill does the next job. We've been having a bit of trouble…," she went into a semi-melancholy mood as she spoke.

"Well, I believe you know where it is at. Help yourself," I felt sorry for her.

Nancy moved over to the dresser and took out some money, a notebook, and an ink set. She sat back down beside me and began to count the money, "Let's see, one, two, three, four… I think that would be enough…," she opened the notebook and flipped to a page that was half-filled with, what was probably, Fagin's writing. She began to subtract the four pounds from the bottom sum. After doing the math, Nancy signed her name beside the sum along with a short note giving an explanation for the withdrawal.

I had been less than interested in watching her at first… that is, until I realized that I recognized the handwriting. I pulled out the note that I had kept in my pocket all this time – the one that had told me to go to The Three Cripples on that first night.

"Did you write this?" I held the message aloft in the firelight so that she could see it clearly.

"No." She got up and turned to replace the contents back in the dresser.

"Are you sure?" She turned around her eyes widened. I had pulled out my pistol.

A door opened and in stepped Dodger. He froze because I had then pointed the gun at him instead, "Come here Dodge."

He obeyed and I posed a different question at him, "Is this Nancy's handwriting?"

"Yes," he replied a little shaken.

"Thank you, Dodge," I grinned at him and he grinned back. He looked relieved and even a little bit proud. I suppose he thought that I would reward him for helping to crack down on a turncoat who was trying to 'peach'. The Dodger walked past Nancy and grabbed a wooden box off a shelf. He then disappeared back upstairs.

I turned my gaze back to Nancy and she fell to the floor. She wept, made excuses, and finally pleaded for mercy. Tears streamed down her face and she bit at her knuckles in despair.

"Nance, I won't tell anyone… don't worry, your safe… I work at the orphanage on East Side Street," I replaced my gun and, grabbing her arms, pulled her into a sitting position.

She gave a few more sobs and then stopped abruptly, "Re-re-really?"

"Yes. I'm here to find out who put this," I waved the note, "in out mailbox."

"I did that some years ago… I was fourteen the…"

"It was stuck in at the bottom of the box… we just didn't know that it had been stuck that long!" I began to laugh and she joined in. She stood up and grabbed her bonnet. She then departed.

I folded up the piece of paper and shoved it into my coat pocket. I felt exuberant! I had not been wasting my time after all!

Dodger and Charlie came in.

"Where's Fagin?" asked Charlie.

"He's left on a vacation!" I might have said this a little too happily.

"Watch it, " I heard Dodger whisper to Charlie, "it's gone to his head like liquor."

Charlie giggled.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Lunch. We're starvin'," giggled Charlie.

Ah yes, my domestic duties… I turned to grab some cookware, but then stopped, "Does anyone have any problems with going to restaurants?"

Both boys looked shocked, but they quickly assured me that restaurants were fine and dandy.

"Alright then, get everyone together and we will go out to eat!" I was in a really generous mood. Sometimes I surprise myself. Although, there was something extremely positive about this idea – I could enjoy lunch without the whine!

**Thanks for reading. Boring chapter, sorry! Please review! Oh, and I know that pun in the last line is awful. Cheerio! - Elaine Dawkins**


	12. Chapter 12

December 7, 1828

... The lunch proved to be a great moral booster. We all arrived back home at two and several of the boys left for "work." The house was fairly quiet now and I could sit down and think through things properly.

Nancy had written the note. Did she still want to be rescued? She had left pretty suddenly and that seemed a bit strange...was she going to tell Bill? Was she only pretending? I now remembered reading a book once in which the main character awoke one morning and found his name on the wall written in blood. Each succeeding night, a letter was erased until the name was gone. Then, the man was stabbed to death - for me, it would be shot to death! I tried to push this thought out of my head. It couldn't be, after all... Nancy had appeared honestly distressed... She seemed very nice... was niceness something I could count on? My head said 'no.'

The Dodger came into the kitchen, carrying the wooden box that he had taken earlier. He quickly replaced it on the shelf and turned around to head back up the stairs.

"Hold on Dodge. What were you doing with that?" I gave a slightly disapproving look.

"Nothin' worth yer know'n," he simply replied.

"Can I see the box?"

"Sure..," he grabbed it off the shelf and handed it over. I looked inside, but it was only full of handkerchiefs.

I pulled one out and examined it, "taking out the monograms?" I asked after seeing many small holes in one of the corners.

"Yes sir," Dodge smiled and tipped his hat slightly in mock politeness.

I grinned at him and pulled my wallet out of my trousers. I then handed him three pounds in coins and he smiled all the more brighter, "For telling on Nance," I added.

"Thanks," and with that, he tilted his head towards me and made his way out of the room.

----

At around four, Fagin returned.

I had been reading out of a book that I had found in one of the rooms. It was a horrible book on famous murders and it made my blood chill. I was in the middle of the seventh chapter - one that was especially bloody. About a man who was killed by the piercing of something sharp through his middle - when, the elderly gentleman loomed into my peripheral vision, fire poker in hand. Before I could stop myself, I screamed.

All the children that had stayed behind came running down the stairs. It must have been quite an alarming picture - Fagin bent over me with the fire poker in his right hand and I, crouched down in the chair with a startled look in my face and with my chest rapidly rising and falling.

Fagin stepped backward a few paces, "My dear, I didn't mean to startle you...I was tending the fire and wanted to ask if you would please get some more firewood out of the cellar."

Some of the children giggled ( Charlie being one of them ) and then they went back upstairs. Only the Dodger and Charlie stayed behind. They sat down at the table and began to play cards.

I put the book down and headed for the cellar.

The cellar was down below and was accessed by a trapdoor. It was cold and the walls were covered with moisture. I was just reaching to grab the first log when, I heard voices.

"What is it, my dear?"

"Top secret stuff," came Dodge's voice from above.

"Is it too secret, my dear?" I heard something metal hit the ground. I guessed that the elderly gentleman had tapped the floor with the poker as a threat.

"No... it's jus' that... Nance is trying to peach on us."

At that, I ran back out of the cellar as fast as I could...

**Hello! Thanks for reading my story! Please leave a review. I know this chapter is kind of boring, but it will get much better in the next one! - Elaine Dawkins **


	13. Chapter 13

December 7, 1828

... Fagin, Dodge, and Charlie paused as soon as I reappeared. They stared at me as though I were headed for the asylum.

"My dear ...,"

"It was a joke!" I cried and then began to weep. I still don't know why I did ...

I sat down next to Charlie and covered my eyes with my hands. Charlie looked at Fagin and then at the Dodger. They all seemed at a loss as to what to do.

"My dear," Fagin began again, "There's no reason for it...,"

"It was a joke," I repeated and slammed my fist on the table. I rose my head and glared at Dodge. He, in turn, looked at Charlie and the two of them immediately collected the playing cards and shuffled out of the room.

"My dear," continued the elderly gentleman.

I got up before he could finish and walked out the door. I went walking down the alley away from the house. It was now perfectly dark save for the few street-lamps that had been lit. I walked for several minutes through the slushy, wet labyrinth with my hands in my pockets and my face downcast.

I began to get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was a creepy, crawly feeling like I had swallowed a spider. A shiver went up my spine and I walked faster. My breath came out in clouds of moisture and cold. I heard footsteps. I ran.

It was a pell mell run; down stairs and streets, past men and women huddled in doorways, past carriages - all the way to Market Square.

I sat down on a park bench. I didn't care that the rainwater soaked my trousers or that the night was freezing, all I cared about was that I had missed a very important loophole. I had been unconscious of it in all my happiness and pleasure. I was a fool. Once more, I broke down and shook with every breath.

It was then that a hand touched my shoulder. I did not show the slightest sensation to the touch. The person who had done this then sat down next to me.

"Did she really?"

I shook my head and did not answer.

"Why not?"

I took a deep breath and wondered what to say.

"Do you like Nance, my dear?"

I could feel the man's stare, "I think she likes me," I whispered.

"Heavens . . . ," Fagin rested his head on his hand and went quiet. After a bit, he began to talk aloud to himself, "Bill is a very jealous man . . . must be reckoned with . . . Nance won't do it though . . . asked her already . . . he needs to be replaced!" He ended on a louder tone and smiled. He then squeezed my arm to get my attention, "You can have her, my dear. You deserve her far more than Bill does. You have worked hard, Tom. Yes, I know it. You'll make a perfect team," he grinned and rubbed his cold hands together in sheer joy.

"What about Bill?" I questioned, "He's dangerous, you know."

Fagin shook his head, "Tsk, tsk . . . My dear, you are just the match for him. You have a gun and wits (which he has not) Ha, ha, ha . . . ! Come, now . . . ," he grasped my arm and led me back in the direction of "home."

- - - - - - - - - - -

On the way, the elderly gentleman, decided that I could use a drink. We stopped at The Three Cripples (the bar that haunted me dreadfully, although he didn't know it) and ordered a couple of beers. I had recovered my composer by now and was feeling a little better.

"How am I supposed to do this?" I took a sip of my beer and wiped the foam from my lips.

"That is simple, my dear. Just let her know you're interested. Act romantically, Tom, and she will fall right into your lap," he grinned, moved closer, and lowered his voice, "She will do the dirty work herself once she realizes what a catch you are compared to Bill." Fagin nodded his head and then put his index finger to his lips, "Not a word . . ."

I looked up and noticed that Bill had entered the bar followed by Nancy. They took no heed of us. Bill seemed to be in a right state. He glared at Nance and snapped at the barman, "I don't wanna drink now! No, she don't want one neither!" he grabbed Nancy by the arm and pulled her towards a door at the far end of the room.

"Bill, stop it!" She tried to pull from his grip and, finding that useless, began to punch and slap him in the arm.

"Stop it, eh?! I'll stop when yer dead an' I don't need to put up with yer!" he let go for an instant and then seized her around the waist and carried her from the room. She continued to hit him. They kept arguing until they were out of earshot.

Fagin sipped his beer in a nonchalant manner. I was concerned and shocked at his demeanor, but I did not share my feelings.

"See, my dear, . . . it's simple." he drained his mug and we left . . .

**Thanks for reading! This is not a boring chapter. Ha, ha, ha! Please review! The plot is getting thicker... - Elaine Dawkins**


	14. Chapter 14

December 8, 1828

. . . The next day (Monday) I left early in order to do my "pick-pocketing." I spent the time shopping on the other side of London. I was tired of my clothing and felt that I had gained enough money to reward myself with some better garb.

I took a carriage over to my house and took a bath. I wanted to get rid of the beer/pipe smell that had been invading my nostrils for some time. After that, I grabbed some more plunder from my dresser: five handkerchiefs, a scarf, an ink bottle, a ring, and two pairs of silk gloves. Stuffing the necessities in my coat pockets, I walked over to a local shopping district.

On my way, I ran into someone that made my heartbeat speed to an unhealthy flutter.

She was a dark haired lady about the same age as Nancy. She wore a slightly soiled, red dress and a brown cape over her slender shoulders. She had a basket over her arm which was filled with rolls and some fruit. Wow! What a beauty! (At least in my opinion. But, I would beat up any man who said otherwise!)

She was leaning against a brick building. I decided to approach her, "Morning Madam," I tipped my hat and gave her a smile.

She smiled back, "Same to you, sir."

I could feel my color mounting. She had such lovely hazel eyes . . .

"Fine morning for shopping," I replied, forgetting about the slush, rain, and clouds.

She laughed, smiled, and tossed her head, "Maybe for you."

I stepped a little closer, "Does the rain bother you?"

"A bit."

I had grabbed an umbrella from a stand at home and I knew she would be thrilled about it, "Want to share?" I snapped it open and held it aloft in a flirty manner.

"Sir, that would be wonderful," she came closer and I held the umbrella over her head.

"Where are you headed?" I asked.

"Down the road . . . to get a carriage."

"I'll walk you over."

"Thanks!"

We walked a few paces down the street, "What's your name?" I casually questioned.

"Bet. Well, that's what everyone calls me," she blushed a little then gave a small laugh.

"Bet, Bet, . . . I have heard that name before. You might know a colleague of mine. Do you know anyone named Nancy?"

"Yes . . . ," she paused for a bit. Her countenance changed to one of scrutiny as she paused in thought, "What's your name, sir?"

"Thomas. You've heard that name before?"

"Yes, I know someone by the name of Tom Chitling. But, you're not him!" she smirked, walked away, and entered the carriage office.

Now I was curious. Who was Tom Chitling? I headed back up the street and went into one of the shops. Did he have any connection with Fagin? Would I see Bet again? Oh wait, I was supposed to be courting Nancy! Drats!

My mood went melancholy and did not improve as the day went on. Even the act of buying clothing had lost it's luster. I could not focus when I went to work at the orphanage and so I left early. I headed back home, changed into my newer cheap clothing, and headed for the "rat hole."

I walked into the kitchen, soaking wet, and came upon Fagin. I placed my "plunder" onto the table and without any warning asked, "Who the devil is Tom Chitling?!"

Fagin, who had immediately begun to examine my findings, looked up at me, "My dear, he's a pickpocket like yourself."

"Is he married?"

Fagin narrowed his eyebrows, "He's available. Not that that has anything to do with you . . . he's below you, Tom. You deserve better. Ha, ha, ha!" He gave me a sly look and then changed it into a very sarcastic one.

"I'm not being funny . . . AND I don't mean it THAT way!"

"What do you want, my dear?" he sighed and began to look closely at the ring I had stolen from myself.

"How is he connected with Bet?"

"Bet is just another one of my apprentices. Where did you learn of her?"

"I met her in town."

"Well, that's fine and dandy, my dear. But, what about Nancy?" he had grabbed his fire poker and was now turning over some logs.

Why did I say all that? Now I was in for it . . .

"Nancy is still priority," I replied and went to hang up my dripping coat.

"I surely do hope so, my dear." Fagin answered and focused his attention back on the fire.

"Don't you like Bill? Isn't he your good chum?" I looked narrowly at Fagin. He, in turn, looked back at the fire.

"Did you hear me?" I was getting annoyed and my temper was mounting (something that happens only rarely, luckily!).

"I hear you, my dear. I was just contemplating, that's all . . ." His voice fell to a whisper and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to anyone else.

"Well?"

"He is a good worker, my dear. Very good, but he isn't very kind - not to Nance, not to anybody. Not even to me. You bring in enough income so that I have a right to be choosy. I would rather have a dedicated, kind partner than a dedicated, rude partner. And besides, look at Nancy - remember when you saw her last night? Terrible, my dear, simply tragic."

"He is mightily scary!" Charlie appeared out of nowhere.

The elderly gentleman perked up at his arrival, "My dear, you find him so?!"

Charlie nodded and then burst out laughing, "Jolly well, I do! So does Dodge, so does everyone! He's just the type to send a man to drink'n - and that dog of his! Boy, that thing could rip the pants right off of . . .

"Charlie, my dear," Fagin interrupted, "Company! We don't want to embarrass ourselves."

"Right," Charlie grinned at Fagin, then at me, and leant against the table to study himself as he shook with laughter.

Fagin looked at me, grinned, and mouthed the words "boys," "crazy," and "tipsy." Charlie didn't notice.

"Dinner in ten minutes!" Fagin declared in a loud enough voice that even Charlie couldn't ignore.

Six boys (including the Dodger) came down the stairs and began to set the table.

"Where are the others?" I asked Dodge.

"Fagin got rid of 'em . . .they were too much to handle. He kept the really good ones, though."

"He just sent them away?" I whispered.

"Naw," Dodge pulled me aside and continued, "He sent 'em to an orphanage. Horrible." He gave a week smile and strode away to get the forks.

"The silver ones, my dear! Nancy and Bill are coming! We don't want to use the tin ones!" Fagin continued to give other orders, but I didn't care enough to listen. I was not looking forward to seeing Bill or Nancy. I was in no mood. I headed out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going, Tom?" Fagin questioned.

"To bed. I'm," I paused in thought, "not feeling myself."

"Then, goodnight, my dear."

**Another chapter done. Thew!! I am not that pleased with this one, but it will do. Please review! Oh, and Broken Amethyst, thanks for all your encouragement! Your wonderful! **

**Cheerio, Elaine Dawkins**


	15. Chapter 15

December 14, 1828

. . . It may seem strange that I have not written for quite a few days, but that is because business went as usual without much worth noting. I continued to leave every morning to "pick-pocket," but instead, went to my usual occupation; and I would later, bring back more of my personal valuables as "profit." By now, I was getting tired of depleting my own goods, so I decided to do something about it.

After being out for several hours, I came back to Fagin's and showed him my goods.

"Here you are: a wallet, a spoon, four cufflinks, two pocket-watches, and twenty-four pounds in cash," I dropped them onto the table to the delight of the elderly gentleman.

"My dear! What lovely wares as usual! You always bring home the best! You are choosy, my dear, but you have enough luck to find just what you are looking for!" he began to finger the items and hold them up in the light, "this clock has an inscription on it," he narrowed his eyes, "It says, 'James Edvard Esq. East Side Abuse Investigator.' My, my . . . that will need to be sanded out."

"Could I ask you something?" I ventured.

"Why yes, my dear," Fagin replied.

"Where do you take all these objects in order to turn them into monetary gain?"

"The pawn shoppe on Chelten Lane," Fagin began shuffling through some papers, "Mr. Lively takes care of the trade, my dear."

"Oh," I pretended to have lost interest and changed the subject. Mentally, though, I decided to pay Mr. Lively a visit the next day. I wanted my property back as soon as possible!

"Want to go down to the bar?" I asked.

"I would readily, my dear, but, I must see to other things tonight . . . the boys have laundry and I need to balance my expense book. Tomorrow night, perhaps." Fagin gave a look that deeply implied that laundry was an abhorred duty and that he would rather have a drink any day of the year.

"You do the laundry for all the boys?" I was incredulous about this being normal - it seemed out of character.

"I don't do the laundry myself, my dear, but I have to make sure that the boys do their laundry! They tend to skip it or "forget" about it and do something else instead. They need prodding! Ha, ha, ha!" Fagin grinned and went over to the stair-way, "Boys!" he called.

All six of the boys, that were still left in Fagin's service, came down and paused waiting for orders. It reminded me of an army with short, little soldiers coming out of the barracks to the sound of their sergeant, ready to obey his every command.

"Boys. It is laundry day. You know what that means . . ."

"It means that Robert's gonna end up soaked more than his clothes, as usual. AND that someone's gonna end up losing the soap bar while you end up slipping on the wet floor!" chimed Charlie with so much mirth that he could not contain it - and, therefore, had to let it out slowly - that is - he leant against the fireplace and laughed for several minutes, non-stop.

Fagin shook his head, "That is not what is going to happen, my dears. We are going to be civilized and not take up more than an hour of my precious time. Now, Dodger . . ."

"Yeah."

"Fetch the wash tub from the cellar. Robert, you and Tim can gather together the soap, washboard, and the clothes pegs. George, go aid the Dodger and help him fill the tub with water. Morgan and . . . Charlie . . . Charlie, once you are finished laughing, you and Morgan can hang up the clothesline. Now get to it, my dears!"

They all went to work. The elderly gentleman sat down at the table and watched their progress. Dodger and George heaved in a tub filled with cold water, Robert and Tim brought in the soap and other articles (afore mentioned), and Morgan and Charlie began to hang up the clothesline. This part was the most interesting. Morgan grabbed a chair and moved it over to one end of the room. Charlie got upon the chair and took down a painting from the wall. He then used the nail, that had hung the painting, to attach the string to the wall. Morgan moved the chair over to the opposite wall and Charlie did the same thing with the opposite painting. Strange, I had never noticed how perfectly the two pictures were placed across from each other!

During this, the other boys searched the house for the dirty laundry. They pulled old socks out of drawers, hats off of pegs; coats, trousers, shirts, waistcoats, underwear,etc. from other rooms and they dropped it all in a pile on the kitchen floor.

"You are forgetting the handkerchiefs, my dears!" said Fagin.

Dodge rushed over to the dresser and pulled out a box-full. Now, it was time for the washing to begin.

"Charlie, organize the clothing by type. Morgan, wet the clothing in the sink and hand it to Charlie. Charlie, you and Robert should scrub the clothing with the soap and hand it to George. George will scrub (using the washboard) and rinse the clothing. Dodger, you will wring the water out of it and Tim, you can hang it on the line. Now, in fifteen minutes, we will swap jobs. Tim will take over Charlie's job, Charlie will take Morgan's job, and so on," Fagin walked over to the fire and began to make some tea.

The system was well-organized and would have served well for a group of peaceful housemaids, but these were boys. Chaos could not be avoided forever.

Robert, being the smallest boy, lost his balance and got his arm and sleeve wet up to his shoulder.

Charlie began to howl with laughter.

Robert slapped Charlie across the face with a wet, soapy pair of underwear.

Charlie got it right in the mouth (which shows he shouldn't have had his mouth open) and choked and spat on the soap, "Cough, cough, HACK! YUCK!!!!!"

Fagin came quickly over and thumped Charlie on the back. Charlie, in turn, after swallowing soapy water and almost chocking on it - and having the soapy water escape down his gut - gagged it back up again.

Robert jumped back as quick as lightning along with Fagin, who did not expect that to happen.

"That's not right," said Tim, calmly, "He didn't spit out bubbles like they say you do. He just horked it ALL up!" he gave this with a disappointed air, and continued to hang up a clean pair of socks.

The rest of the boys left the room and headed up stairs. Tim finished with the socks, stepped down from his chair and strolled out of the room. Charlie was left on the floor. He stared down at his shirt and pants in disbelief at the brownish muck.

Fagin bent over and pulled Charlie off the floor. He then began to slowly undress Charlie.

I felt that it was a good time to go get that drink at the The Three Cripples.

I left the house and immediately changed my mind about the bar. I was going to spend this time at Chelten Lane. I walked for several minutes and then flagged down a coach.

I got off about a block away from the pawn shoppe. I walked over and was surprised to find that it was still open.

There was a short, over-weight man out front, smoking a pipe.

"Are you Mr. Lively?" I asked.

He pulled out the pipe and smiled, "Yep! That's me!" he then replaced the pipe.

"Still open? I wanted to look for a pocket-watch."

"Sure thing!" he practically jumped back through the door. He then scuttled at a fast pace over to a case that housed several clocks, "See!" he tapped on the glass, sped-walked to the other side of the case and unlocked it.

"I want that one," I pointed at one that used to be mine.

"That's six and a half pounds, my good sir!"

I handed him the money. He handed me the pocket-watch and I made my way back to Fagin's. (Although, not until I declined several offers for more wares at cheap prices and an invitation to have a drink!)

When I returned, I found Fagin cleaning the floor and Charlie at the table, smelling of bath soap, wearing someone else's clothing.

"Did you have a nice time, my dear?" he looked up from his mopping.

"More than you did, I am sure!" I replied.

Fagin grinned and continued working.

I went off to bed . . .

**Thanks for reading! I loved this chapter and I hope you did too! Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	16. Chapter 16

December 16, 1828

. . . I woke up early to the sound of someone banging on a table. I got out of bed, washed my face in a basin, combed my hair, and left my bedroom.

I found Fagin brooding near the fire with a newspaper clutched and twisted into a knot between his fingers. He was bent over in his chair and was mumbling some frenzied conversation to himself.

When he heard me enter the room he looked over his shoulder in my direction, "Guess what, my dear?" his voice was a hissed whisper and was dripping with rage. His eyes were narrowed along with his brows and he grinned in a very leering manner.

"What?" I asked, wondering whether he was drunk.

He turned back to face the fire and shuddered, "This!" he rapped the paper on the brick and then continued, "Mr. Lively was taken into custody last night. And do you know who did it, my dear?" Fagin grabbed the fire poker and proceeded to exhaust his mad rage on the helpless, burning logs.

"Who?" I asked quietly.

"James Edvard!!!!" he jumped up from the chair, flung the newspaper onto the fire, and whacked at the chimney for several seconds with the poker. Fagin then continued on by kicking his chair over and by giving a long yell, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" After finishing this last bit of show, he sat back down again and did not speak.

I did not ask for more information since my life would have been in extreme jeopardy and since I already knew all this . . .

( I will now spend some time in letting the confused reader hear the missing part of the tale - and I hope, in turn, to be able to clear up his confusion in the best possible manner.)

The next night, after the laundry incident, I remade my invitation to the elderly gentleman, "Would you like to go down to the bar tonight?"

"Ah, my dear, once again, sadly, I must decline, but thank you . . . I have some business tonight that I must see to," he smiled and continued to work on the chicken he was cooking for dinner.

"Alright then . . . ," I walked outside and down the lane.

I had honestly been hoping that Fagin would be too busy; I had decided on what action to take that would result in my retrieval of my property. I headed down to my house and changed into my best attire. After that, I headed over to the police station.

Once there, I went inside and talked with the police chief. I told him that I had been missing several items and that I knew the culprit. I even showed him my badge (one that explained my official title - that of a child abuse investigator).

"What was stolen?" he asked.

"A comb, five pairs of cufflinks, thirty-four pounds in cash, a ring, two wallets, five handkerchiefs, a silver snuff box, a mahogany pipe, a spoon, two pocket-watches . . ."

I went on for another minute and then gave a detailed description of each item. The policeman looked shocked. He immediately got ahold of about ten other police officers and we headed down to the pawn shoppe.

I would like to mention that Mr. Lively was no hypocrite. He lived up to and beyond his name.

When we arrived (me and eleven policemen), Mr. Lively was just shy of giddiness. His chubby face broke into a wide, guilty grin and he began to bounce back and forth on the tips of his toes. After trying his best to sell several items to the police, he was handcuffed and told to "shut up his trap." He went quiet, but stared at me as though he would gouge my eyes out.

The police made a thorough investigation of the stock and were able to find several of the stolen items. They were then returned to my possession and I went back to the station to fill out some paperwork.

Once, I had seen Mr. Lively safely in a jail cell, I went home, changed into my hobo dress, and went back to Fagin's. That is the whole story and, as far as I know, Mr. Lively came to a terrible end - that is, the end of a rope, the following day.

(Returning now to the story at hand . . .)

I continued to stare at Fagin until Bill suddenly showed up. He came in and looked at me and then looked at Fagin.

"What's the matter with 'im?"

"Mr. Lively was caught." I waited for Bill to join in on the moping, but he didn't, "That don't matter," he waved his hand in Fagin's direction.

"Oh, yes it does, my dear."

"Now'd it don't. Find someone else."

"What do you want, Bill?" Fagin was trying very hard to keep his voice steady.

"Tom," he replied. I looked warily at him.

"Why do you want Tom, my dear?"

"I need 'im for another job," Bill took out a pipe and lit it, "Toby's taken sorta ill, it seems, an' I need some 'elp."

"I'll do it . . . as long as I get paid handsomely for it!" I waited for Bill to give the particulars.

"'ow much is handsomely?"

"Thirty pounds and not a cent under," I gave him a very serious expression.

"Right . . . I'll come by an' get yer tonight at elev'n," he turned to leave and Fagin shot him a nasty glance. Luckily, Bill didn't notice it . . .

**Another chapter done! I hope it was worth your time. It is important for the story. Please leave some feedback! I hate to think that no one is reading my stuff. - Elaine Dawkins**


	17. Chapter 17

December 16, 1828

. . . Bill left and Fagin began whacking his fire poker against the side of the chimney, once again, in fresh anger. I went to my room so as not to bother him any further.

I lied down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I began to focus intently on the plaster and found myself returning back to memories of my childhood; a time when I could spend hours counting the cracks in the ceiling. Those days were long gone now. I sighed. What I wouldn't give to be back at that cottage in Kent with my older sister (now diseased); us playing in the yard, reading in the garden, or just watching the rain hit the windowpanes during the winter storms! I wished that I could go back, even for a minute. Those had been the best days of my life. . .

My thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on my door. I sat up to find Fagin standing by my bed, staring at me.

"My dear," he began, "I want to discuss something that has been bothering me. . ."

My heart began to race.

"You see, you are not getting very far with Nancy . . . and I think I know what to have you do."

"I have tried to be exceptionally kind to her," I answered, "And she is not doing anything."

"I know, my dear. She is not easily goaded into helping herself," Fagin sat down on the edge of the bed, "You should do something about it tonight."

"How?"

"By going with Bill . . . and, supposing you don't return with Bill. Simply use your wits, my dear. One of the simplest things you can do. And, of course, Nancy will be grateful - If not right away, eventually. Just think on it," he stood up and left the room.

I remained where I was and thought about how I would avoid this horrible task. But, I could think of nothing. I was stuck. My luck had only gotten me so far. Now was the time to fling caution to the wind.

I got up walked out of the room, past the kitchen, down the passage, and out into the street. I headed down to The Three Cripples and went inside.

"Excuse me," I addressed the barman, "I need to find Bill Sikes. What room number is he?"

The barman told me he lived in room twelve on the third story. I went up two flights of stairs and came upon the room. I knocked. There was a scuffling noise and then there was Nancy at the door. She smiled and invited me in.

"What do you want?" she led me to a chair.

"Is Bill home?"

"Not right now but, he should be back in an hour. Can you wait?"

"I'm not actually interested in seeing Bill. I need to speak to you . . . It's urgent."

Nancy leant towards me and appeared a little worried.

I continued, "Fagin wants me to murder Bill tonight. I don't want to," I stopped, not knowing what to say.

"He wants Bill dead?" she began to tear up.

"I didn't think that would upset you so . . . I'm sorry," I grasped her hand.

"Bill's not always unkind - no matter what Fagin thinks. At least he used to be . . ."

"I had the same impression as Fagin, I'm afraid. What changed him?"

She looked me in the eye and lowered her voice, "Drinking, money, and Fagin."

I understood this partly. I understood the drinking (Bill drunk to excess), but I did not fully comprehend the rest, "Can you explain further?" I prodded.

"Yes, well when I met Bill he was living outside of London. He was working as a farmhand. He would take produce to market regularly for extra pay. I met him when I was thirteen. I had run away from a workhouse in the area and he gave me a ride. . ."

(She went into a fascinating story about her first encounter with Bill. I have written it in full below - not because it really pertains to anything, but because through reading it, the reader may understand the complexities of Bill.)

- - - - -

The cart bumped and thumped as it sped along the dirt road. The wheels creaked as they turned and Bill could not keep himself from constantly hitting the girl beside him in the shoulder. Every time the cart flew out of a rut, he would be chucked off the seat and would come back down at an angle against the poor passenger, making her clutch at the side of the seat so as to keep from being pushed clean off. This happened almost continually, therefore, it would be silly (although not entirely wrong) to continually say that he was honestly sorry for hitting her. So, he made a point to regularly apologize for the ride. When he did this the girl would simply shake her head, say that it was normal, and clutch the seat tighter.

"We'll be 'ere in just a few more hours."

The girl nodded, her eyes staring strait ahead frozen, holding on even harder than before with her fingers.

"What's yer name?" he asked in order to check that she did still have a voice. She had not spoken ever since they had started.

"Nancy Bently," she stated quickly and stiffened against another blow from Bill. Then she said quickly, "Can we stop!?"

Bill pulled on the reins and gave a short yell towards the horses. They stopped abruptly and caused the two riders to be flung backwards.

"Well, there yer are. Now what's the problem?...Nancy?...Miss. Bently?..." Bill had turned to look at the person sitting beside him, but she was missing. He turned his head from side to side, but after discovering nothing, he let some air out of his lungs in a low whistle and dismounted. "This is no time fer silliness, Nancy. I'm in a right spot. Got a deadline yer know..." He started to pull apart some bushes along the side of the road. "I've got business to do yer know..."

"So do I! Please don't come any nearer! Go back! I'll be there in a minute!" came the voice from somewhere ahead.

"Oh, I won't! Just you tell me next time before yer leave me with a puddle in my cart!" Bill headed back feeling extremely foolish, "Never ever follow a girl off into the bushes, you aught ter know that!" he reminded himself.

A minute later she reappeared. She looked at Bill, blushed, and climbed back in the cart smirking with her hand over her mouth. Bill looked over at her. She stifled a giggle and he quickly set the horses to trotting once again. He didn't speak again for a long time because he was still embarrassed and he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that he was as dimwitted as a garden hoe and he did not like it one bit.

Nancy was now clutching at the side of the seat once more, but she frequently looked over at Bill. She smiled, giggled, and then would look away in a shy, girly manner; the kind that drove Bill crazy.

He tried to concentrate on the road ahead. He took note of every pothole, every leaf, the way the grass overhung the road, everything.

"Only a few more hours," he reminded himself, "Then, I won't have ter see her again."

He leaned back in the seat and tried to look like he hadn't a care in the world. He was a man for goodness sake! He didn't need to heed a giggling creature who was younger than he and who didn't even have the right to be riding in his cart, HIS cart. He could chuck her out any time he wanted. See how she would like walking all the way to Leighton...

Unfortunately (or because of the grace of God), Bill was not as manly as all that. Halfway through his thoughts he started hearing a voice from inside his head. He was used to it; it was the same one that spoke every time he went into a pub, the same one that spoke whenever he tried to play poker, the same one that spoke when he raised the price of his onions...it was the voice of his mother.

"_Never, ever drink, the Lord hates drunks. Never, ever gamble, the Lord hates people who throw away his blessings. Never, ever do dishonest business, the Lord hates people who cheat. Never lie, God hates liars. Never covet, the Lord gives as he sees fit. Never, ever disrespect women, God made them just like men..." and on for several more minutes._

One of the earliest memories of his mother was of her sitting out on the porch, opening pea pods, and giving this speech. She had repeated it so many times that Bill had memorized it and he could still hear her pronounce each syllable and with extra emphasis on the words "God", "Lord", and "Hates."

As these old words twisted themselves around in his brain, he looked over at Nancy and saw that she was now composed and clutching the seat.

"Sorry 'bout the ride."

"It's normal," she tossed her head and breathed in the fresh air.

Bill looked back at the landscape and wished that time would fly by a little quicker and that his mother would shut up on the way.

About an hour later, as the sun became erect over the land, Bill's stomach began to grumble and his head began to linger on the memory of a tuna sandwich he had stowed away in his bag. Suddenly the idea struck him that if he stopped his cart and ate, the inevitable would happen: he would have to share. Rats! Nancy carried no luggage so obviously she had no lunch. Bill heaved a sigh and reined in the horses. He stuffed his hand into the bag behind the seat, fished around, and pulled out his sandwich, wrapped in a handkerchief. He set it in his lap and started to unfold it slowly in order to see how Nancy would react. She looked over at his lap in a sort of uncomprehending way and folded her hands. Bill grabbed the sandwich and held it in his hands. Her eyes followed it. He waited a moment and then fetched a small, carving knife out of his pocket. As he cut the sandwich in half, Nancy began to smile once again and she even laughed gently as she thanked him for his kindness.

They sat quietly and chewed, both in thoughtful repose. Bill was trying to work out wether they would arrive at Leighton by evening when suddenly his thoughts strayed to a new idea altogether:

_I wonder if Nancy, since she can't seem ter wait ter use the restroom, will not be able ter keep the food down? If she vomits in my cart...Oh, there'll be heck to pay then! But, why am I thinkin' about this?! Think, Bill, yer still have thirty-five miles approx. to go and yer need ter get there by six...Oh, I can't concentrate like this!_

He came back to reality and found that he was chewing his tongue and that his brow was wrinkled into a tight knot. Nancy was attentively looking over at his face and he could see a sparkle of girly laughter in her brown eyes. He must have looked ridiculous.

"Ready to get going?" he asked.

"Yes. What were you thinking about?"

"Math. I'm trying ter figure how much time we 'ave."

"You mean the type where you use time and distance to figure speed? Wow, that's higher math isn't it? You must be really smart!"

_Suckin' up ter me! Of course I'm smart; what do yer think I am, a guppy?!_

"Yeah, I went ter school," he focused ahead and said no more.

(Nancy went further into the story but, I must stop here and let the reader learn a different aspect of Bill)

Nancy paused after a time.

"Where does Fagin come in?" I asked.

"Bill met Fagin after he moved to London a month later. Bill couldn't find any work and, therefore, Fagin's offers of food, sleeping quarters, and work were very tempting. After working in the pick-pocketing trade for about a year, his greed grew so much that he decided he wanted to strike out on his own. Fagin was fine with it as long as he still got some of the profits. The result was that Bill got into a partnership with Toby (Toby's a few years older than Bill) and Toby taught him everything about house-breaking. I eventually came to London, at about this time, and was insnared by Fagin, too. I then joined the pick-pockets until I started to get cold feet. Fagin was unhappy about my "guilty feelings" so he moved me in with Bill. I was supposed to help him, but my feelings are - that I was simply a gift for Bill to use as he liked. I didn't mind it at first. But, then, he began to drink heavily and to become abusive - he lost all feelings of remorse . . . ," she went on much longer until I decided that I should leave.

"I need to go before Bill gets back," I hastened to the door, "Don't worry about anything." I left and she closed the door. I headed as quickly as I could back to Fagin's. I still was not sure what I was going to do later that night . . .

**Cheerio! This is a strange chapter, but it is interesting. I hope you liked it. This is my longest chapter so far! Please, leave feedback! - Elaine Dawkins**


	18. Chapter 18

December 16, 1828

. . . Bill came by at eleven as planned. Fagin had stayed up with me. He had spent the time trying to give me as many ideas, as to how to best do the murder, as he could.

"If all fails, my dear," he stated, "Just pull out the gun on him."

"I know."

"And if he puts up a fight . . ."

"Shoot him," I answered in monotone.

Fagin nodded solemnly and bent his head back down in order to read a book that was open on his lap. It was the same book I had read that one afternoon when he had been away. Fagin was using it now as a reference in order to learn the best methods for stopping human life. The whole idea made me nervous. I had been feeling sick for the last couple of hours because of it and I obviously showed it.

"Alright, my dear?" Fagin looked back up from the page. His finger was pointing to where he had left of.

"Fine."

Fagin removed a pair of reading glasses from his nose. I had only seen him wear glasses once, when he was doing some monetary calculations. He must have been slightly farsighted because he took them off in order to look at me. I was sitting across the room, "My dear, you don't look so well, but maybe it's the lighting in here."

He replaced the glasses and continued to read, "Now here, my dear," he pointed to a passage, "It says that in 1782, Barry McQuill got life for murdering his wife. They found him out because of the gun he used. It was an old one; quite antique and rare. His friends knew it by sight and also knew the kind of bullets it used."

"How does that pertain to me? My pistol isn't rare at all," I was getting tired of this. We had been at it for over two hours.

"My dear, your pistol is different from Bills. Nancy has probably seen it and will easily guess that you committed the murder. She probably knows you will be with Bill tonight . . . she will tattle."

"What does that mean? Now you've just found another problem," I was feeling sulky and I did not care much about anything that Fagin was saying.

"You must get Bill's gun and use it!" Fagin began to rub his hands together with passion, "she will think Bill shot himself! Did suicide!" he stood up and slammed the book shut.

Just then, the Dodger came into the room, followed by Bill. I got up out of my chair.

"Stay sittin'," he ordered.

"Bill, my dear, what is it? Something wrong?" Fagin seemed more surprised than I was. I just slumped back down again and closed my eyes.

"Toby's feelin' normal again. He wants to do it so, I don't need yer," he looked over in my direction.

"Fine," I answered.

"I would 'ave yer too, but Toby would do som'thin' desperate; he needs the money," Bill seemed almost sorry that I was not going to be coming.

"Maybe," I ventured, "Toby will get ill again, sometime," I gave Bill a forces grin.

Bill grinned back and then said that he had better get going. Dodge guided him back out into the passage.

At this point, Fagin sat back down and began to make several curses and oaths (so he and Bill did have something in common after-all; vulgar language),"That was our best chance, my dear . . . could be an entire year before you get alone together!" He wrung his hands in anger and leered.

That was when something snapped. Sitting there, watching him get annoyed over a failed murder; it made me angry. My blood seemed to broil and I found that I hated him. This was something new. I had once admired his skill, his way with children, his humor - but now, that didn't matter. He was a crook, a criminal, a killer, a - slaughterer!

I knew there was only one thing to do about this. I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out my pistol. Fagin had turned to prod the fire. He was an easy target. I aimed the gun at the middle of his back, pulled the trigger back and, BANG!!

**That's a wrap! I hope you aren't as saddened by this as I am. I'm a Fagin fan and this is quite strange. Please leave feedback. I'm just going to go see a therapist now, otherwise, I might not make it through this depression. - Elaine Dawkins**


	19. Chapter 19

December 16, 1828

. . . I had shut my eyes tight. I awaited some sort of scream or the sound of something fairly heavy collapsing to the floor, but nothing happened. I did not want to open my eyes. I had never, ever shot anyone before and my stomach quelled as I thought of Fagin, slumped against the fireplace, bleeding to death - or worse - already dead! Why had I done it? Why had I let my anger get the better of me? I remember praying to God for mercy and forgiveness, "Please, Lord, it was a mistake. . ."

I decided that I would have to open my eyes. When I did, I saw that Fagin _was_ leaning against the fireplace. I let go of the gun and it dropped to the floor with a small thud. Then, I walked over towards him.

He was grasping his left arm. Bright, red blood was leaking from between his fingers in rivulets as he tried to stifle it. He was breathing heavily and shaking. He said not a word, but continued to stare in the opposite direction at the fire. This gave me the creeps. I imagined that he was probably thinking that that was were he would end up. An angel of the Devil headed for the fires of Hell. He accepted his fate and, therefore, did not even try to change it. Feeling a great pang of guilt, my thoughts went back to an earlier memory.

An image now came back to me. An elderly gentleman and a young man sitting in a bar. The young man was asking me whether I had a gun. I answered, "Yes, I have one. Not on me now though!" The elderly gentleman simply stared at the table and made no other sign. He then looked back up, smiled, and spoke, "Now, Bill, my dear, you almost met your match!" He was right - only, I was worse; I had done what I had always promised never to do. Fagin had sat patiently there at the table; not caring that I had a gun or fearing that I would use it. I now found tears streaming down my face.

None of the boys had come running down the stairs. They were probably too frightened to come and investigate. I was glad of that. This was a terrible situation - not one for children to view.

I bent closer to Fagin and he turned slightly; further away from me. He did not yell out for aid; he just stayed there, shaking with his eyes closed. I pulled a handkerchief out of my coat pocket. Forcing his bloody hand from the wound, I tried to stop the bleeding using it. I then replaced his hand back on top to hold it on the wound while I led him over to my room. I told him to lie down on the bed and he did so without much response, "I'm sorry," I whispered. Fagin closed his eyes and sighed, "I don't know why I did it. Forgive me." No answer.

I rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed several blankets from a drawer. I also grabbed a basin and filled it with cool water. When I returned he opened his eyes.

"I'm going to remove the handkerchief and wash your arm," I told him. Fagin removed his hand as an answer. I pulled off the handkerchief and fresh blood began to pour out. I washed the blood of as best as I could with a rag and then turned my attention to the blankets. I folded a couple of them and stacked them under his arm to elevate it above the rest of his body. I then covered him with the other blankets to keep his temperature from dropping.

"I'm going to go get a doctor," I tried to say this in an assuring tone, "I will be back really soon. Don't worry, everything is under control."

I walked out of the room and then broke into a run. I headed down the the street. I now realized that I had no clue where the local doctor was. I saw a woman and ran up to her.

"Do you know where I can find a doctor? It's an emergency!" I could hardly get the words out; I was panting so badly.

"Gregder Road. Two blocks that way and then on your right," she pointed the direction and I headed off immediately.

I found the office and, finding the door locked, began to bang on it in a frenzy. A middle-aged man, wearing spectacles and holding a candle, opened the door a second later. He did not wait for me to explain, but grabbed his bag right away and said, "Lead me."

I led him and found out that he was actually a faster runner than I was. He ran a bit ahead and I called out directions to him. Between directions, he asked me for other information, "How much blood?" he yelled back at me.

"About . . . a good amount," I panted out.

"Is he unconscious?"

"He wasn't . . . while . . . I was there. That's the place . . . up ahead."

The doctor went right in and I followed. After a we got to the end of the passage, I led him the rest of the way into my room.

He bent down over Fagin and grabbed his wrist. I waited.

"Pulse is a bit slow . . ," he fumbled in his bag, "I need to get that bullet out," he pulled out what looked like a pair of extra-long tweezers. He poked them into the hole while pulling the skin apart with his other hand. I closed my eyes; I felt light-headed.

"There it is. I won't be bleeding him, he's lost enough as it is. I'll just put some alcohol on this and stitch it up." he continued to work for about half an hour.

"Will he be alright?" I asked.

"I'd say so," the doctor replied, "he just needs some rest. Keep him warm and get me if anything strange happens. He should be fine in a couple of days. Oh," he paused by the door, "you'll want to report this to the police, of course."

I nodded, "How much do you want . . ."

He placed his hand on my shoulder; "Free of charge," he said and left.

My mind wondered back to the boys upstairs. I decided I would not go up there to explain. That could wait until morning. They would be safe and in beds for the night.

I now put my energy into making some chicken broth. Fagin always kept a jug of it on hand for times when he was less inclined to cook. I heated some up and took it to him.

I set a bowl-full down on the night stand and moved a chair over next to the bed. Fagin opened his eyes and glanced at me, "I made you some broth. Want some?" I dipped my spoon into the substance and held it near his lips. Surprisingly, in my mind, he took it. I gave him several spoonfuls, "I'm sorry. I feel awful about this. It wasn't an accident, I know, but it was a terrible mistake."

Fagin nodded, "I had hopped so, my dear." And with that he went to sleep.

**Cheerio! I feel so much better now! Fagin is alright! Good thing Tom has bad aim! Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	20. Chapter 20

December 17, 1828

. . . The next morning, I awoke and found Fagin cooking breakfast.

"Feeling better?" I asked him.

"Yes, my dear; perfectly normal," he grinned at me.

"I'm still really so. . ."

"Never mind, my dear. I am overlooking it. Don't even try to repay me," he stirred a pot of oatmeal. After a couple of minutes, he stopped, "Want to see something?" he walked over (a little weakly, I noticed) and handed me a piece of paper. Written on it, with sloppy handwriting, was:

_BOOM! goes a bomb, _

_Umbrellas are yellow,_

_Please forgive Tom,_

_He's such a worthy fellow. _

_P.S. (although, if you think otherwise, don't shoot him in the house) - Love, Charlie_

"He left it on the bed, my dear. Must have snuck down here last night," Fagin grinned.

"That's clever," I replied, "need any help with breakfast?"

"Oh no, my dear. It's practically ready."

Five minutes later, everyone was eating breakfast as usual. None of the boys seemed bothered or nervous. We ate, laughed at Charlie's jokes, read bits of the morning newspaper, and even did the dishes together - all without any reference to the happenings of the prier night.

"Ready to go, Charlie?" Dodge asked his friend once the dishes were done.

"Why don't you relax today, my dears?" Fagin interrupted, kindly, "Have a holiday."

All the boys looked at one another in shock. What was Fagin talking about? Holidays? What happened to profits and plunder?

"What about work?" Dodge seemed almost put out by this sudden oddity and loosening of the rules.

"Go out and do some shopping or something . . . Christmas is coming. I'm tired of you all whining every year about having no presents, my dears. Now go! Shoo!"

All the boys, except the Dodger, left the room.

"You coming, Dodge?" asked Charlie, waiting in the doorway.

Dodge sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah."

The two of them went out into the passage and Charlie began to give Dodge all sorts of gift ideas, "You could get me a new jacket, my own snuff box, a beer-making kit . . ," his voice faded as they left the house.

"Should I go, too?" I was unsure about leaving or staying, but I had to go to work.

"Stay, my dear. I need you; Bill will be coming over this morning and I want you here when he shows up."

Oh great. Now, he was going to have me murder Bill in the kitchen. I really proved my skills last night . . .

**It is a short one, but, once again, important. We are getting closer to the end, now. A little sad, but all things must end sometime. Please review! - Elaine Dawkins**


	21. Chapter 21

December 17, 1828

. . . Fagin sat down in a chair and began to do some monetary calculations. After a while, he paused and removed his glasses to look at a clock on the wall, "My dear," he addressed me, "go light a candle and wait in the passage for a while."

I did as I was told. I grabbed a candle from a drawer, trimmed the wick, lit it, and headed into the dark passage. I leant against a wall and waited. A couple of minutes later, the bell rang. I opened the door and there were Bill and Nancy on the doorstep.

"Hi ya," said Bill.

"Come on in," I led them into the kitchen.

Fagin had put away the ink and paper, "Come in, come in, my dears. Sit down. Tom," he glanced over at me, "go mix Bill a drink, will you?"

Bill opened a suitcase that he had brought, "Here's yer share of the plunder." he addressed Fagin, "A silv'r tea service an' a couple of leather-bound books."

Fagin came over and began to examine them. A minute later, he paused with a thoughtful countenance on his face.

"Not satisfactory?" asked Bill.

"They would make some very good money, Fagin," chimed in Nancy.

"The girls right," added Bill, "Rich people love this sort o' stuff."

"I know that as well as you do, my dears, but . . ,"

"Yer ill," commented Bill. He eyed Fagin narrowly, "What happ'ned to yer arm?"

"Fire poker wound, my dears," Fagin lied. He looked a bit nervous at this point.

"Are you alright?" asked Nancy, "Who did that to you?!"

("Prob'ly did it to himself. Bound to have happ'ned someday," Bill commented more to himself than to anyone in the room.)

"I will answer no questions," said Fagin, flatly. He glanced over at me and grinned. Then, he continued, "I am not interested in those items. I have decided to retire."

"WHAT?!!!!" yelled Bill, "BUT, YER ARE RETIRED!" Bill stood up suddenly like he had sat on a spring.

"Bill, hush," Nancy laid her hand on his shoulder. He brushed it off and she fell silent, looking down at her feet.

"YER'VE BEEN RETIRED FOR AGES! YER DON'T WORK! WE WORK, THE BOYS WORK; YER DON'T!!!" Bill paused to catch is breath. Fagin had backed away almost against the wall. I was getting extremely nervous. Fagin was going to end up dead any minute if this continued much longer. I looked over at Nancy and she met my gaze. She then set to the task of stealing Bills pistol out of his pocket. Bill was in such a riled state that he didn't even notice her take the gun and stow it away in her own pocket.

_Good going, Nance_. I thought. _Use it to get away from Bill. You now have the key; open the door and escape!_

"I simply meant Bill, my dear, that I am retiring from the business of caring for pick-pockets and burglars. I want to live alone, travel, . . just relax! You can go on in your business; I just don't want to be a part of it anymore."

Bill looked stunned, "What 'bout the boys?" was all he could say.

"I know you don't want them Bill; they will go to an orphanage. It's simple. You can have the house if you like. I don't care," he paused, "I won't peach, my dears, because if I peach, someone else will peach on me. I am saving my own skin as much as I am saving yours. That is all, you may go now."

"Come on, Bill," Nancy led Bill out of the room. He was too surprised to move of his own accord.

"What happened?" I asked Fagin once they had gone.

"I was thinking back to that little vacation I took a couple of weeks ago. I enjoyed it so much that I want to continue it to my death," he finished Bills drink and began to scrub the glass afterwards.

"Are you really going to go alone?"

"Probably, my dear. Probably."

- - - - - - - - - -

The boys showed up at lunchtime. They were all carrying parcels. Fagin told them to carry the presents into the living room (this was the opposite side of the kitchen; the area with the sofa and the wooden rocker).

"Sit down,my dears," Fagin sat down in the rocker, "We are going to do Christmas early this year . . ."

"Yay!!" cried Charlie, "How early?"

"I was just getting to that, my dear," Fagin tussled Charlie's hair, "Today is our pre-Christmas gift exchange. We will open gifts."

At these words, wrapping paper flew!

"Wow, a snuff-box!" Charlie was ecstatic! He shoved it in everyone's face and danced around the room.

"It's empty," said Dodge. He gave Charlie a what's-so-fantastic-about-that expression and rolled his eyes to the sky.

"Better than the scarf you got," pointed out Charlie, "That's a dumb gift."

"Hay!" Robert gave Charlie a dirty look, "I bought that. And it's imported material from India!"

"That is very nice, my dear!" cried Fagin.

Robert stuck his tongue out at Charlie when Fagin wasn't looking.

"Here," Charlie handed Robert a small box.

Robert tore it to shreds and then looked solemnly at the contents.

"What is it, my dear," Fagin peered over Robert's shoulder.

"He, he, he got me. . . UNDERWEAR!"

The other boys screamed with glee at this finding.

"I'm never buying you a gift again, Charlie!" Robert looked very upset. He skidded the box over toward Dodge, "you can have it. I don't want it."

"Robert, my dear," interposed Fagin, "Charlie paid good money for that. You should be thankful."

Robert didn't answer and Fagin gave up persuading. Charlie didn't seem hurt or surprised anyway. I suppose that seeing Robert end up with nothing was just as good as Robert ending up with an embarrassing gift.

After everyone had opened their gifts, Fagin announced that they were going to go for a carriage ride through the snow. Dodger was incredulous the whole time and seemed ill-disposed to even leave the house.

"Come on Dodge, my dear. There is nothing to be afraid of. Ha, ha, ha! We are just going for a joy ride."

"No, thank you," replied Dodge. He slumped onto the couch and made like he would take a nap.

"If Dodge is staying," said Charlie, the loyal one, "I'm staying, too."

"Fine, my dears. You'll just miss out," Fagin motioned for me to follow and we headed outside with the rest of the boys. I remembered that it was the Dodger that had alerted me to the fact that Fagin had let go of some of the boys previously. He probably had a good idea where these one's were headed and felt threatened at the prospect. Charlie had probably caught on, too. Therefore, they both decided to not leave the house for anything. The other children were too interested in having fun to even be wary or cautious. I began to wonder what Fagin would do to get rid of them . . .

**Transitional Chapter. It is slightly funny (I hope). What will Fagin do with the children? Hmm . . . Who knows? Please leave some feedback. I think this story is not so close to the end as I thought it was. - Elaine Dawkins**


	22. Chapter 22

December 17, 1828

. . . The snowy carriage ride did culminate in the children's enrollment in the East Side Orphanage. I stayed outside during the proceedings because I did not want anyone to see and recognize me. I don't know what happened to those children, whether they were upset or whether they were happy at the prospect of gaining families. My guess is that they were somewhere in between the two extremes.

Fagin came back out after he had finished dropping them off. He climbed back into the carriage and we set off for home.

"Nasty business," I commented.

"Yes, my dear, but I want a change," he rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

"What about the Dodger and Charlie?"

"They . . . well . . . I don't know, my dear. They are hard to persuade; they are the oldest I have and children become stubborn by the age of thirteen."

"Why don't you keep them?" I knew it was a stupid question.

Fagin went silent. He looked out at the snow and sighed, "I have not the money, my dear. Or I would."

I could not help but raise my eyebrows at that, "Really?"

"Then again," Fagin continued, " Charlie likes you. He wrote that poem about you," he looked over at me and grinned, "Charlie might like being with you . . . and Dodge wouldn't mind (I hope) living with you."

"Alright. I will take them if they are fine with that," I put my freezing hands in my pockets, "Where are you going to go?" I was curious and a little worried about this.

Fagin shook his head, "I haven't a clue, my dear."

"If I take Charlie and Dodge, would you like to join us?"

"My dear, that is very intriguing. But, what use would I be?"

"None at all," I said. Fagin gave an almost (if possible) hurt expression.

"What?!"

"I mean, you don't need to be of any use. Go ahead, enjoy your retirement. I can afford to let you have some fun."

Fagin obviously did not see this as fact.

I plowed on, "You see, I have another job. I . . . I work at that orphanage."

Fagin gave me a very sharp look, "My dear! You lied to me?! You could have gotten us out of this whole darn mess and you didn't even bother to?!"

I was astounded, "You wouldn't have minded it?"

"How much do you make, my dear?" Fagin continued.

"Enough to own a two-story victorian on the east side of town," I answered, "And another thing. Now I hope you will forgive me for this, but my name is actually James Edvard and all that stuff I pick-pocketed - that stuff is my own personal belongings."

Fagin practically jumped off of the seat at that, "You . . . YOU, turned in Mr. Lively?! You, you, you . . . ." he had lost his voice.

The carriage stopped and he immediately went inside. I followed, wondering whether it was really safe for me to.

"A ha!" cried Charlie after Fagin and I entered the kitchen, "Dodge was right! You did get rid of Robert, Morgan, George, and Tim!" Charlie pointed at Fagin in an accusatory manner.

"My dears! That does not apply to you. You are not going to go to an orphanage! You are going to go with James and I!"

"Who's James?" they both asked in unison.

"Him!" said Fagin, pointing at me, "The man who lied about his name, his whereabouts, his personality, his work, his financial position, . . ."

"What did you do that for, pray tell?" Dodge looked slightly angry.

I went into a very long detailed account of myself and my business. I will not bother the reader in retelling all. By the end, thought, Dodge and Charlie became amused with the whole thing.

"Clever. Dirty rotten of you," Dodge gave a small smile.

Charlie couldn't say anything because, by that time, he had found my double life so sufficiently funny that he collapsed on the floor, laughing and out of breath.

"My dears," intervened Fagin, "We must get packing!"

"Right!," said Charlie, "That will take all of five minutes! Hey Dodge!"

"What?"

"Don't forget to grab the toilet paper out of the privy!"

Dodger shook his head and headed upstairs followed by his comical companion.

Half and hour later, everyone was standing outside the front door in the snow. There were three trunks resting on the ground. Charlie had been sent to get a carriage and Dodge was spending the spare minutes trying to keep from freezing while Fagin locked the door and placed the key under the doormat.

"Cold?" I asked the Dodger.

"Ya think?" he replied and hugged himself tightly, his body shaking.

"Try jumping around, my dear," suggested Fagin.

"No way," answered the Dodger.

"Suite yourself," the elderly gentleman replied, "Ah, here comes Charlie!"

"The carriage is parked on Velvet Avenue. The driver says he can't ride any further through the alleys," Charlie grabbed his trunk.

"Rats!" Fagin looked up towards the sky, "They don't cater very well in cold weather. We'll just have to button up and take it."

We walked to the carriage and set off in the direction of my house. I was very excited about going home. It felt like ages since I could sit before my own fire, sleep in my own bed, wear my usual attire . . .

The carriage stopped at my stone walk-way. Fagin, Dodge, and Charlie all stared up at my house with awe.

"My, my, . . ." was all Fagin could say.

I smirked, feeling very smug. It was a mansion compared to where they had lived.

I led them up the walk-way and into the entry.

"I'll show you around," I offered.

"No need, my dear," spoke Fagin, "They boys and I will do fine if left to explore."

"Hey, James!" called Charlie, "Is that real leather?" he was peering into the living room, "And is that a marble fireplace?!"

I grinned at him, "Yes."

"Oh, boy! We get to live here and sit on those leather couches and stair at the fire in a marble fireplace! WOW!" Charlie went into the room and flopped onto the couch.

Dodge, in the meantime, had followed Fagin up the stairs to check out the bedrooms. All in all, it was a good day for them and for me. Actually, especially for me because of the fact that I got to see their happy faces and also, because I felt that I had outdone myself this time. I had set out to help Nancy, but I ended up helping Fagin, Charlie, and Dodge as well. My self-esteem had risen greatly. . .

**This sounds like the ending chapter, but it is not! I have more plans in mind. Please leave a review! I want to thank Broken Amethyst and Charlene Bates for their support in my endeavors! - Elaine Dawkins**


	23. Chapter 23

June 12, 1829

. . . Two days later, Nancy showed up at the house. She told me she had no money and asked if she could stay for a bit. I said she could and she (because of a lack of any more bedrooms) slept on the couch. Nancy wouldn't tell anyone what had passed between herself and Bill. Fagin tried to get the story out of her several times, but gave up after a while because she would go silent and say nothing. I figured that it would take time before she would be ready and I was right. She did eventually tell me several months later, but she swore me to secrecy so I cannot tell the reader. Sorry!

- - - - - - -

We had a very merry Christmas that year. We decorated the house with ivy and mistletoe, went caroling, and even spent a week working in a local soup kitchen. The new year was a wonderful time, too. We stayed up until midnight, playing cards and sipped punch. Charlie had spent his time earlier that day making party hats for us all. He forced us to wear them and then laughed uproariously at how dumb we looked.

After New Years, the boys were sent to school. This was something they were both dreading, but they learned to like it. After about a week of attending, Dodge came home with some startling news, "Charlie is actually smart after all!"

"What, my dear?!" Fagin cried in mock surprise.

"Yeah," said Dodge, "He got an 'A' on a report!"

"What was it about?" I asked.

"Hamlet; I criticized its satire - I said it didn't really have satire at all because it wasn't funny in the least," Charlie went red in the checks and gave a sheepish smile, "The teacher said that she disagreed with me, but that my argument was so good that she could not help but give me a perfect grade."

"How did you do, Dodge?" I was extremely curious.

"Not so good; I got a 'B-.' The teacher didn't like how I criticized the play's length. Said it wasn't a good thesis," Dodge shrugged his shoulders.

Since then, Dodge has improved tremendously. He gets 'A's and was voted class president. This doesn't shock me very much. He is a natural leader and has had a lot of experience in that area. I mean, he was the second in command to Fagin.

Fagin has put all of his free time into writing his autobiography. I asked him if he was actually going to take the chance of publishing it. I was afraid that he would be taken into custody immediately.

"Oh no, my dear! I want you to publish it after I have gone! Not now! Not anytime soon!" with that he dipped his pen in the ink bottle and went back to work.

Nancy and I spent a couple of months doing housework together. During this time, I realized that I liked her a lot. She had a very sweet demeanor and was happy to work and take care of us all. By April, I asked her to marry me. We wed on the twenty-fourth and then went to Ireland for our honeymoon. Later, Nance asked me if I still thought of Bet at all.

I answered, "Not since we spent that time together cleaning the ashes out of the fireplace."

"Really?" She responded, "Want to know when I started liking you?"

"Do I really want to know?"

"Yes! I liked you the first time I met you. I just always thought you were really handsome!"

I am still working at the orphanage. The only thing that is different is the fact that on Tuesdays, I bring Fagin along. He spends his time there talking to the children. The children get excited whenever he shows up. One girl commented to me that it was like having a grandfather. I told Fagin this. All he said in response, with a grin, was, "Am I that old, my dear?!" He has since decided that that little girl is his personal favorite. He is discussing possibly adopting her - that is, if it is alright with everyone else. We said that it was fine.

All in all, it has been a blessed year so far. Hopefully it continues to go this well. God has been very good to all of us . . .

THE END

**That's the final chapter! I hope you enjoyed the story! I will get to work writing my next one. It is also a Oliver Twist story. Please review! I hope everyone is happy with the ending! There is no use in complaining! It is, after all, a happy ending! - Elaine Dawkins**


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